Waiting for Spring
by WhiteWings9
Summary: Alfred Jones is a male cheerleader who is sensitive to teasing, and the basketball jocks happen to be more than willing to humiliate him whenever the opportunity arises. The cruelest of them is Ivan Braginski, captain of the basketball team, although his motivations for bullying Alfred is not entirely straightforward. Russia/America. Cheerleader!AU.


**Waiting for Spring – Prologue **

The water cocooned Ivan as it poured in a steaming stream over his head, muffling the laughter of his teammates trickling in from the changing room. As he stood soaking up the heat under the shower, he replayed once more in his mind the final seconds of their practice match against the team from a neighbouring school.

He had leapt into the air with that pot-smoking bastard who, at the height of his jump, threw the ball inexplicably over his shoulder instead of shooting. The ball was caught by the Chinese reserve member they had reluctantly pulled in after benching somebody else for a twisted ankle. He had assumed the reluctance was because the reserve member was not very skilled; the reserve was about ten centimetres shorter than he was, at least.

How terribly wrong he was.

Small but speedy, the Chinese reserve had ran full pelt for the basket, taking everyone by surprise but Weilschmidt, who chased ahead of him in order to cut him off. It looked as if everything was under control when the reserve stopped – Weilschmidt skidding to a halt with him, confused – leapt high into the air, and sent the ball sailing in a smooth arc over six meters to drop neatly into the basket.

He was a three-point shooter.

That last-minute shot ensured that they lost by two points to them. At the memory of the scoreboard – 25 to 27 – he slammed a fist angrily against the wall, suppressing the urge to kick and swear.

_Who the hell was that guy, and where did he come from?_

There was a knock on the door of his shower stall, two smart raps of a knuckle.

"What?" he demanded.

"Uh, we're all going for some pizza at the mall. You wanna join us, boss?"

Adnan sounded much too nonchalant for someone who had fouled twice in the match and benched some lumbering Greek in exchange for that Chinese reserve! If anyone was to blame for their loss…

"You guys go first. I'll catch up later."

The water roared in his ears as his teammates filed out of the changing room, still whooping and cheering, as if they had not just suffered a humiliating defeat at the hands of some no-name team from a comprehensive. He stood for a few minutes more under the shower, hoping to wash away his bitterness in the scalding heat.

* * *

Alfred was walking through the parking lot when he realised with a jolt that he had forgotten his sweater. He came to a stop, calling out to his teammates, "Hey wait up, I forgot something!"

"What, again?" Emma groaned as all three girls stopped, turning to face him.

"You're always forgetting something," Angelique said.

"Typical Alfred," Mei giggled.

"Yeah, yeah, stupid me! You girls go ahead, okay? I'll catch up."

Any other day in the week, he would have given up on the forgotten item for the next day, but his sweater badly needed a wash before evening practice tomorrow. He did not want to risk Ludwig's wrath. The first time he had done so had been bad enough. As he jogged back into campus, turning a corner in the corridor for the gym area, he took to whistling the tune to some cheesy radio commercial, feeling more than glad for having remembered the sweater before it was too late.

Once at the gym entrance, he went down a little corridor and slipped through the swing door into the stale-aired changing room. He ignored the warning sigh against wet floors and sprinted down the length of the room to get to his row. He rounded a wall of lockers, slipped on a wet patch, scrabbled manically to right himself, and barrelled straight into someone who had just stepped out of the showers.

"Whoa, whoops! Sorry, didn't see y–"

He stopped short, blue eyes widening as he realised just who it was he had bumped into. He released his hands of him as if they burnt, raising them high in a surrender position.

"Evening, Jones," Ivan said smoothly.

"Oh hello!" Alfred returned in a chirpy falsetto. _Crap_, he thought. Laughing nervously, he skirted around Ivan – naked but for a small towel wrapped around his waist – and backed into his locker. "Just f-f-forgot something," he added weakly.

Keeping his eyes firmly ahead, he opened up his locker and rummaged through a pile of laundry for his sweater, praying he would find it quickly. He could feel Ivan's eyes burning into his back, which made him extremely nervous and caused him to fumble with his clothes.

_Oh fuck, are we alone? What the hell's he doing here so late, anyway? Ugh, bet he thinks I came in to catch him naked on purpose. That stupid, arrogant, evil-smiling, son of a b–_

"Found what you're looking for?"

Alfred banged his head on the door as he rushed to slam his locker shut.

"Yup, got it, here it is!" he crowed, waving his white and blue cheerleader's sweater at Ivan. "I, er, I guess I'll be going now – bye!"

He tried to leave, but Ivan was blocking his way, and was not making any space for him to get past. His heart sank to his shoes.

"Um, y-you mind…?"

"Oh no, not at all. Go right ahead."

Ivan shuffled generously to the side on his bare-soled feet, presenting Alfred with less than half the width of the floor with which to squeeze through. Alfred looked up at Ivan's eyes scorching into him with cruel glee, his lips twisting into a thin, toothless smile.

"Right," Alfred breathed.

He pressed himself to the wall of lockers and attempted to squeeze past Ivan that way. As he slowly slid past him, however, he decided he did not really want to present his back to him and spun quickly around, regretting his decision the instant he realised that their faces were now only inches apart. Just then, his thigh brushed against something hard, and his eyes flitted down to see what it was. Ivan slammed a sudden palm against the locker he was leaning against, which scared him into diving to the side and landing sprawled on the floor. Seeing that he was finally through, however, he scrambled to his feet again, and groped blindly in the direction of the exit before breaking into a run.

"C-catch you later!" he yelled as he ran helter-skelter out of the room, bursting through the swing door and out into sweet, sweet air.

* * *

Ivan stood staring after Alfred, listening to his running footsteps until they have faded into the distance. That… had been close, much too close. His heart drummed against his ribcage as his mind fixed to the image of Alfred's face which, for a split second, had come close enough for him to count the freckles on his nose… close enough even to _kiss his lips_…

He blinked. His palm curled into a fist, and he pushed himself from the locker to stand and look down at the tent in his towel. Shame and disgust crawled like a horde of tiny, burning ants up his face, and he let out a vicious, hissing snarl.

His hand reached to touch himself, stopped, hesitated as he cursed again. He took a deep, deep breath, before letting his hand fall limply to his side. He was _not_ going to succumb, not this time. Casting around for something to distract him, his eyes landed on a sweater lying on the ground where Alfred had fallen; a blue and white turtleneck sweater, the colours of their school, undeniably a cheerleader's sweater…

That idiot had dropped it on his way out!

Slowly, hesitantly, he stooped to pick it up, glancing warily about him, clutching guiltily at it as if was a stolen relic. There was nobody around, and he did not hear anyone coming. He stood up, shook out the sweater and held it up, examining the white star emblazoned across the chest against a blue background, the blue cutting in a V-shape at the midriff into white.

He brought the sweater to his nose and inhaled. It was a little damp and smelled mostly of stale sweat, but there were small fragrances of Alfred too; cheap deodorant, mint chewing gum, the scent of grease lingering from some horrible fast food meal he was more than partial to…

For one wild, crazy moment, he considered keeping the sweater. There was nobody to stop him. He could take it home with him, and hide it in his drawer among his own sweaters, and… and…

_And what? To do what with?_

The desire to possess the sweater passed just as swiftly as it had seized him to be replaced by a new, rippling anger. He balled up the article as tightly as he could in his large hands, spotting the trash can at the far end of the floor, and hurling it spitefully in. The sweater unrolled from its balled-up state midair and fell short of its mark, hitting the lip of the can with a little thump and sliding limply to the floor. He stood staring at it, breathing as hard and heavily as if he had just run laps around the court. His hands were tingling still from touching that soft, precious material.

After a while, he realised he was not going to calm down on his own and he turned around, stalking back into the stall for a cold shower.

* * *

**A/n:** This is what happens when you leave me with an endless stretch of free time and a bunch of American teen movies. Inspired by _Bring It On_ (I just really love the male cheerleaders).


End file.
